


She Matters

by avidbeader



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sherlock Series 4 Spoilers, The Final Problem - speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 17:24:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9282152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avidbeader/pseuds/avidbeader
Summary: If a certain Holmes goes after John to hurt Sherlock, who else might they go after? A speculative scene that jumped into my head and wouldn't let go until I wrote it.





	

Molly hurried into the locker room, fishing her key out of her trouser pocket. The text from John had been brief but very clear. _Get to Baker St now. Life or death._

“So, it’s the other goldfish.”

Molly whirled at the voice. The woman stepped out from the end of the lockers, looking at Molly like she was a particularly interesting slide under a microscope. She had long red hair pulled away from her face and her eyes… Molly had only ever seen one other person with changeable-sky eyes like that, ever.

“What do you need, Ms. Holmes?”

The woman’s face showed shock, but she recovered quickly. “So, this one’s clever. That must be why he kept it around for so long.”

Molly felt her pulse quicken in terror and stepped back. The lilting voice, the unfocused eyes, talking to herself more than Molly, because Molly was an it, someone who didn’t count. As she moved, Sherlock’s sister put a hand in a deep pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a gun. Her eyes narrowed as she held it up.

“You’re going to be more fun that the other one. It took him so long to realize.” She tilted her head. “How did you know?”

“Y-your …” Molly’s hand gestured up to her own face. “Your eyes. They’re Sherlock’s eyes.”

This seemed to spark interest. “And do you like his eyes, little clever doctor?”

_I’m not an it anymore, at least._

“Yes, v-very much so. They pierce right through you. Blue, green, silver, you never know what colour is coming next. They’re beautiful.”

The ice-blue eyes before her sharpened their gaze. “And do you find me beautiful, little doctor?”

_Keep her talking…_

“Yes. You’re very beautiful, Ms. Holmes.”

The woman lowered her gun and moved forward. Molly’s instincts screamed at her to back up, but she held her ground.

“My name is Eurus. Say my name.”

“Eurus. Your name is Eurus. Do you know my name?”

Eurus chuckled at that. The sound sent shivers down Molly’s spine. She closed in and stroked Molly’s cheek with her free hand.

“Molly. Your name is Molly Hooper and you are a pathologist here.” The hand on Molly’s face slid to her neck, holding her in place. “And you said I was beautiful.” Eurus leaned in and pressed her lips to Molly’s. Molly squeaked and hoped it sounded like surprise more than fear. She forced herself to relax, to return the gentle pressure, and tried to think whether she should go for a gut-punch or grab the gun arm—

Eurus pulled back suddenly and Molly felt the barrel of the pistol dig under her chin. “But names don’t matter. Even goldfish have names. It doesn’t change the fact that they’re goldfish. Disposable, not worth anything unless one gets attached and sentimental. They don’t matter.” She pushed Molly away and raised the gun once more. “Sherlock was always the most sentimental of us. He never understood that you don’t matter.”

Almost before the thought could form— _now or never_ —Molly lunged forward and drove her shoulder into the woman’s ribs. The momentum sent them crashing into a row of lockers. Molly dimly heard something clatter to the floor and prayed it was the gun as she strained to hold Eurus in place, going for her throat.

The attack had flipped a switch and her opponent was now enraged. Eurus began shouting at her, trying to land blows on her back and arms. Molly abandoned offense in favour of bracing her feet and keeping the woman pinned in place with her weight. Suddenly Eurus’ hands were on her face, thumbs digging at her eye sockets.

Molly screamed in pain, trying to duck away. Suddenly there seemed to be more noise coming from somewhere. She barely registered that the door to the hallway had slammed open and the roar of a voice above the sudden cacophony.

“MOLLY!”

Hands were pulling them apart, many hands and then many guns were aimed at Eurus, who had fallen to the floor. Molly strained to see through the tears and her now-blurry vision. But she didn’t need to see to recognize when arms clad in a very familiar Belstaff pulled her close and swiftly guided her out of the locker room.

“Are you all right?”

One hand fluttered toward her face. “My eyes, she was going for my eyes.”

Sherlock’s hands cradled her face as he examined her injuries. “No blood, but there’s swelling. Let’s get you upstairs to Casualty.” Without stopping to ask, he scooped her up into his arms and started down the hall toward the lift. He was muttering under his breath, alternately cursing Mycroft for a fool and thanking John for alerting him in time.

“John’s okay? She said something…”

“John’s okay. Bullet through the shoulder, though.”

As they exited the lift, Molly heard a shout. “Sherlock!”

“Not now, Mycroft! Molly needs assistance!”

“What kind of assistance?”

“She tried to gouge Molly’s eyes out! Just like she did Redbeard’s!”

“Oh, dear. You remember it all now?”

“Nearly. Now if you’ll excuse us—”

“Wait one moment, Sherlock.”

Molly opened her eyes and could see the fuzzy outline of Mycroft dialling a number into his mobile. As someone answered, Mycroft spoke, “Doctor MacMillan, please. It’s urgent.”

There was a short pause before he continued. “Hello, Liz, it’s Mycroft Holmes. I have an urgent case, trauma to both eyes, that needs your immediate assistance. Yes, your surgery will do admirably. We are on our way.” Mycroft hung up and gestured to them. “She’s the best in the city. Will that suffice, Sherlock?”

Sherlock swallowed and nodded. “All right, Molly?”

She closed her eyes to ease the pain in them and nodded back. “Yes, thank you.”

Mycroft guided them to his car and assisted as Sherlock lowered Molly inside. He tried to wrap his coat around the both of them and Mycroft produced a pair of shock blankets from under one of the seats with the flair of a prestidigitator. Molly snuggled gratefully into the warmth. Sherlock kept one arm around her and they rode in silence for several minutes. She felt his lips brush her hair before he spoke to Mycroft.

“You didn’t want to stay and supervise her relocation?”

“No. My team knows what I expect from them. I’d rather see to the sibling with whom I can still have something of a relationship.”

Molly felt Sherlock stiffen at that declaration and felt for his free hand under the blankets. She took it and squeezed reassuringly.

“Mycroft…” Sherlock hesitated.

“Yes, little brother?”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. She matters to you.”


End file.
